


The No Bang List

by The_Real_Fenris



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack, Crossover, Don't Read This, F/M, M/M, Modern Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a friend fiction which is a complete and total rip-off of <i>Naomi and Ely's No Kiss List</i> set in modern Kirkwall. So I'm sure you shouldn't read it. </p><p>Michael and Pixie have been best friends forever. But when they fall for the same man, will their friendship survive the ensuing storm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Love You More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pixiemixieheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiemixieheart/gifts).



Lily watched as the young girl sitting across from her inelegantly blew her nose into the tissue. Snatching a fresh Kleenex from the nearby box, she then dabbed at her eyes. Lip quivering, she looked at Lily with the largest damn puppy dog eyes the sex therapist had ever seen.

Lily reached out for the plate of cookies on the coffee table between them, then held it out towards her guest. Freshly baked, the cookies exuded a heavenly smell of delightfully sweet goodness, golden brown and soft, the chocolate bits still warm and gooey. But the girl just waved the plate away.

Lily set down the plate, just barely managing to mask her astonishment. _Pixie is turning down a cookie?_ Shit, whatever had happened between her and Michael must have been really, _really_ bad.

The dark-haired woman waited patiently in silence for another moment, before she spoke. “So. You ready to talk about what happened?”

Pixie shifted in the oversized plush armchair, as her perfectly-manicured nails began to shred the tissue in her hands into little pieces. She sighed once. “You know how some friendships are so important, that you’d do anything to make them last?” she asked. When Lily nodded, Pixie said, “Well, that’s why Michael and I created the No-Bang List.”

Lily arched one graceful eyebrow. “You may have to elaborate on that, sweetie,” she said. “What, exactly, is a No-Bang List?”

Pixie pursed her lips, lost in thought. _Where to begin?_ From when she and Michael had played together as children, perhaps? No, that was too far in the past. From when they created the list in high school? Well, actually, that wasn’t quite so relevant, either. Really, the trouble had all started at the beginning of their second semester at the university.

_Because of Professor Dickbag’s class._

“Hold on a second,” Pixie said. “I’ll get there.”

\---------------

_Three weeks ago..._

Just as the lanky young man stepped shut the door to apartment 301, the kitty-corner door of 302 banged open, and a girl in a whirl of lace and leather burst out.

“Michael!” she squealed as she threw herself upon him in the customary tackle hug.

The blond man, accustomed to this sort of greeting, gave her a quick squeeze in return, then put a hand on her shoulder. Gently pushing her back a step, he let his blue eyes, just visible over the top of his sunglasses, sweep over her outfit.

Pixie waited impatiently as Michael judged her fashion choices of the day.

“Is this what you’re wearing on the first day of a new semester?” he murmured. “Mmm. I approve.”

Pixie grinned, then struck a dramatic pose straight out of Tevinter _Vogue_. She then gave her friend the once over – a form-fitting black coat, a colorful and fashionable scarf he’d picked up in the outdoor market in Hightown, and jeans tight enough to show off his pinchable butt.

Pixie grinned again, and waggled her eyebrows approvingly. “You always look hot, and you know it!”

Michael returned the grin, then struck his own pose, also worthy of a fashion spread. “Well, it is a burden I must bear,” he said. Sliding his hand across his chin, he considered Pixie again. “Those sunglasses, though.... mmm, no. Absolutely not. Hand them over.”

The two friends exchanged sunglasses. Now Pixie sported Michael’s oversized designer frames in black, while Pixie’s slimmer red frames now perched on Michael’s nose.

“Much better,” Michael decided. “Okay. Come on, Pix. We’re going to be late for school.”

Pixie shuffled along reluctantly at Michael’s side. Maker, she didn’t want to go to school. The first day – having to find her classrooms, talking to strangers, not knowing what to expect – it made her anxious. Only half-joking, she whipped her phone out of her jacket pocket and pretended to read it.

“Oh, what’s this? Aww, it says that class was canceled.” Shoving the phone back into her pocket, she turned around and started walking back to her apartment. “I guess we can’t go...”

Michael quickly grabbed her before she got too far. Holding her arm firmly, he began dragging her down to the elevator. “We’re _not_ staying home today. We’re going to school. Meet new people. We’ll undress with our eyes the ones we like. And torture the ones we don’t.”

Pixie sighed internally as Michael jabbed the button for the elevator. “Fine, but... you’re going to owe me a lot of hugs.”

“Duly noted,” Michael said gravely, then gently pushed her into the elevator when it arrived.

At the bottom floor, they spilled out of the elevator into the grand lobby. Skirting the couch where Alistair sat, Michael teasingly cuffed the young man, laughing at his protest, while Pixie ignored all the boys as she headed straight for the door, in no mood for their usual antics.

Before she reached her destination, one of the boys suddenly threw himself in her path.

He stammered his greeting as he nervously adjusted his glasses. “Umm... hi, Pixie. You... ah... look nice today.”

Pixie just barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Cullen.”

Before Cullen could stutter another asinine thing, Michael appeared. “Step aside, kid,” Michael said coolly, then shoved Cullen out of the way. _“Some_ of us have important things to do.”

Sliding her arm into Michael’s, Pixie snickered as they swept out of the lobby, through the main doors. Once on the sidewalk, the laughter Pixie had been holding back suddenly bubbled out. “Did you really just call Cullen ‘kid?’” she gasped. “He’s two years older than us!”

Unmoved, Michael just tossed his scarf over his shoulder. “Oh, Creators,” Michael muttered. “All the boys in our building? Total immature dorks.” Then he smiled, slyly. “Well, except the new guy from Tevinter.”

Pixie hummed, her expression becoming dreamy as she thought of the newest addition to Skyhold Apartments. “Definitely not a dork.”

Michael cocked up an eyebrow. “Pix? Did you notice that Dorian has a perfect little birthmark on his right cheekbone? Right near his eye, like it’s painted on?”

Pixie snorted. “What do you take me for – an amateur? That’s my second favorite thing about him.”

“And the first?”

Pixie smiled wickedly. “His luscious grabbable butt!”

Michael chuckled softly. “Of course.”

Pixie cast a curious glance at her best friend. “Maker, Michael! You like him, don’t you?”

“Oh, I haven’t even talked to him yet,” Michael said airily. “So the answer to your question is no.”

Unconvinced, Pixie continued to eyeball him. Okay, what Michael had said was fair – he didn’t know the new guy, so he didn’t _like_ him. But Pixie was pretty sure that Michael liked _looking_ at him. Just like she did. After all, the Tevinter was hotter than summer in the Hissing Wastes.

Which meant there was only one logical thing to do.

“I think we should put Dorian on the list.”

Michael was quiet for a moment, biting his lip. Then he huffed. “Really, Pix. We can’t put _everyone_ on the list.” At Pixie’s skeptical look, he added, “The No-Bang List should really be reserved for all the totally delicious fuckable boys – you know, the ones that look like David Bowie.”

At the mention of Bowie, Pixie’s expression became dreamy again. “Mmm.... Bowie....”

At the end of the block, they turned into the park. Except that instead of going straight through – the quickest way to Kirkwall University – Michael tugged Pixie towards the walkway to their right.

“Michael...?”

The blond gave her his most charming smile. “I’ll walk you to class if we can take the scenic route.”

Pixie resisted a bit by holding her ground. “Do we really have time for this?”

“Plenty of time,” Michael assured her, then tugged her arm again, this time with more determination. “Come on, Pix.”

Saying no to anything Michael wanted was hard. Rolling her eyes – a gesture which was, fortunately, hidden by the oversized sunglasses – Pixie allowed her friend to drag her down along the path.

From the previous semester, Pixie already knew what they were going to encounter on the so-called scenic route. This particular part of the park was where the college-aged gay boys liked to congregate at all hours of the day. As they approached a bench with three young and stylishly-dressed young men, Michael slowed a bit, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

“Creators, Pix,” he murmured appreciatively. “Check out the cute brunette in the middle.”

As Michael checked out the boys, the boys checked him out right back. Two of them waved coquettishly at her friend. One of them even winked. Pixie let her dark eyes sweep over them. Yes, Michael was super pretty, so there was no reason that other people wouldn’t notice that. And yes, the brunette in the middle was ridiculously cute. And Pixie was totally fine with gay boys in general...

...just not for her Michael.

Michael had been her best friend since they were five years old. Really, her only true friend. So, it made sense that she didn’t really want to let some other boy steal him away.

Didn’t it?

Once out of the park, they turned around the block and reached the building where Pixie’s first class was. There they stopped.

Pixie stared at the door. That alone was enough to make her anxiety level start to rise. Whirling to face Michael, she pleaded with him. “Please don’t make me go in there!”

Michael sighed. Then he lifted the sunglasses and propped them up on his head. He then placed both hands lightly on her shoulders, before leaning down to press a soft kiss upon her forehead. Drawing back, he looked at her very seriously. “Pix?” he said softly. “I love you. You’re beautiful. You got this. Now – go in there.”

Defeated and feeling emotionally gooey, Pixie just sighed and started walking towards the building. Except she was only halfway there when she felt a little flame of anxiety flare up again.

Stopping, she whirled about. “No, I don’t wanna go,” she whined, then held open her arms. “Michael! HUG ME!”

Michael, immune to all of Pixie’s totally fake whining, remained resolute. Straightening his back, he merely extended an arm, pointing at the door. “NO,” he boomed in the voice that brooked no argument. “GO.”

 _Ah, fuck me,_ Pixie thought. She would have to be strong. Turning back around, she squared her shoulders as she yanked open the door, as she let herself be buoyed up by the mantra now running through her mind.

_He loves me. I am beautiful. I got this._

\---------------

Pixie adjusted the bag over her shoulder and bounced back and forth on her heels as she stood in the hallway outside of the ceramics studio. Eventually her patience was rewarded when the students began to filter out, chatting to each other and paying her little attention. Michael was one of the last ones out. Squealing his name, she tackle-hugged him.

Long, strong arms wrapped around her, squeezing her tight. Lifting her up, he then swung her around, then set her back down in the hall so they were no longer blocking the door.

Pixie looped her arm through his. “Come on, Michael! I’ve decided that there’s something you should definitely see.”

Michael allowed Pixie to drag him down the hall towards the door. “Is it a hot guy?”

Pixie grinned. “Maybe.”

That meant that it was a hot guy. Michael hummed approvingly.

An uncharacteristic blast of winter air greeted them as they burst through the door. Pixie shivered at the sudden cold, then huddled closer to her friend. “Aren’t you even going to ask me how classes went?”

With his free hand, Michael tossed his scarf around his shoulder with a graceful flick of his wrist, and laughed softly. “Pix, you texted me about your classes at least a dozen times.”

Pixie pouted. Okay, so maybe she had been a bit excessive in expressing her dislike about Professor Blackwall, her new painting instructor, who seemed like a complete bastard. “Well... fine.”

Michael chuckled softly again. “So... where are we going?”

Pixie brightened, then squeezed his arm tighter. “You’ll see.”

A few blocks brought them back to the park. But instead of crossing through it, Pixie led him down towards the basketball court, through the gardens, which in winter were not much to look at, but was one of the prettiest parts of Kirkwall in the other seasons, especially summer.

Thinking of roses and lilacs blooming, Pixie smiled. “You know, I think we should get married here.”

Michael peered around at the leafless trees. “I don’t want to ruin the romance of it all, but... what happened to getting married at the Chantry?”

“I don’t mean me and _you_ get married.” Grinning, Pixie tugged him over to the chain-link fence that surrounded the basketball court, and indicated one of the players. “I meant me and _him.”_

Michael’s gaze fell upon the young man in question: Dorian Pavus. Dark hair, bit of an undercut, styled impeccably. Luscious bronze skin. Lips to die for. Definitely a pretty boy. And his body... well, Michael couldn’t help but to notice how gracefully the man moved across the court, and how deliciously the soft, stretchy fabric of his sweatpants clung to his perfectly firm and round peach of an ass.

Yeah, he totally got why Dorian’s butt was Pixie’s favorite thing about him.

Michael and Pixie threaded their fingers in the holes of the fence, each one leaning forward to watch Dorian steal the ball from one of his opponents, then circle around to smoothly shoot the ball into the hoop.

As his opponents cursed, Dorian smiled, flashing brilliantly white teeth between luscious cinnamon lips.

Michael and Pixie sagged against the fence.

“Sigh,” Pixie said.

Michael watched Dorian closely for another moment. “He’s very good with balls.”

“Michael!” Pixie snorted a laugh. “Well? Was I wrong?”

Michael paused, biting his lip again, as he considered Dorian Pavus. _Totally deliciously fuckable._ Then he sighed. “Yeah, you’re right,” he reluctantly admitted. “Dorian totally belongs on the No-Bang List.”

Pixie had just known that Michael found their new neighbor hot. Although she enjoyed being right, she tried not to gloat. Taking his arm, she gently pulled him towards one of the nearby benches where they sat down. Opening her bag, she reached inside for a pen and the little black notebook and began flipping through it until she found the list.

“So,” Michael said, casually adjusting his scarf, “where do we put him?”

Pixie tapped her pen against her chin, the pink fluffy pom pom on the end tickling against her lips. “Obviously Sebastian Vael will always be number one,” she said after a moment’s reflection. When Michael nodded his agreement, she added, “Did you hear he’s off in the Anderfels, saving orphans?”

“No, but that sounds like something he would do.”

“No shit,” Pixie said. “Anyway... Dorian. He may be new, but... well, he is hotter than everyone else on the list.”

Michael hummed. “Agreed.”

“Oh, and Anders said that he’s in a band.”

Michael hissed a breath. “Oh fuck, that’s even hotter.”

“Well, then,” Pixie said, flourishing the pen before decisively bringing it down upon the paper, “Welcome, Dorian Pavus, to number two on the No-Bang List.”

Once the name was on the list, it was stronger than law. Closing up the notebook, she glanced up at her best friend, and – despite the sunglasses – immediately noticed that his expression had changed. The serious one that she didn’t like. By the way his head tilted back towards the basketball court, it didn’t take Pixie much effort to figure out what was going through Michael’s mind.

It was: _lost opportunity._

Pixie stuffed the notebook back into her bag, and tried to sound stern. “Let us not forget the importance of putting hot guys on the list.”

Michael didn’t smile. “Pfft. Fine.”

“It will ensure against any future Pixie-Michael break-up.”

“I guess.”

No, she didn’t like moody, sullen Michael at all. With a squeal, she launched herself forward, landing in his lap. “Friendship where we never fight over guys!” she shouted.

At her enthusiasm, Michael barked out a laugh. “Friendship that will last forever.”

Happy, Pixie decided sagely to change the subject. “So... want to watch a movie tonight?”

Michael half-smiled as he ruffled a hand through her hair. “Only if I get to choose the movie.”

\---------------

Michael threw himself down on Pixie’s bed as Pixie pressed the play button on her phone, which she’d plugged into a plastic panda head whose eyes were speakers. Unsurprisingly, Shakira’s _Whenever, Wherever –_ one of Pixie’s favorite songs – floated out to fill the room.

Michael laughed, watching as Pixie shimmied around the room. At the chorus, she threw her arms up into the air and began to suggestively wiggle her hips. Michael shouted encouragement at her over the music.

“Shake it, Pix! Shake it!”

Pixie shook it, singing, _Le do, lo le, lo le._ By the end of the song, both of them were laughing hard as Pixie collapsed on the bed next to Michael. Wriggling, she wormed her way up beside him and fell quite naturally into his outstretched arm.

Pixie snuggled closer as Michael’s hand began to lightly filter through her hair. They were quiet for a moment, then Michael spoke, his tone serious. “Do you know why I love you?”

Pixie immediately shot up to a sitting position. Stared down at Michael, dismayed to see that he had that expression about him – a bit soulful, and sad around the eyes.

No, that wouldn’t do. She liked moody, sad Michael even less than moody, sullen Michael.

She put on a big smile for him. “Is it my uncanny ability to make puppy dog eyes?” she asked, then – as if a switch had been flipped – Pixie’s mouth fell into a pout, her eyes wide, and she blinked at him, reminding him of one of those velvet paintings of sad clowns they used to give away as prizes at the amusement park.

“OH CREATORS, STOP!” Michael groaned in protest. “Not the puppy dog eyes!”

Pixie burst into a giggle. Then she returned to her previous cuddling position in the crook of Michael’s arm. She smiled against his neck as his fingers began to rake softly through her hair again.

“Definitely the puppy dog eyes,” Michael said, only less seriously than before. “And also because when I put my head in the oven, you pull it out and put cookies in there instead.”

Pixie shot up again. “Michael!” she admonished. “You shouldn’t make jokes like that. They’re not funny.”

Michael glanced away, a muscle in his jaw flexing. He was still for a moment, then he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair before letting his arm flop down upon the deep turquoise and gold coverlet that adorned Pixie’s bed. He hadn’t been joking, really... Sometimes Pixie’s ability to cheer him up was the only thing that kept him from throwing himself under a train. But to say so would only make her worry, which was the last thing he wanted.

Turning back to her, he smiled. “I love you.”

Pixie beamed at him. “I love you more.”

Michael leaned up as Pixie leaned down to give him a chaste peck on the lips. Leaning back again, he kicked off his shoes, not caring where they landed, though he enjoyed the satisfying thump they made as they floor beyond Pixie’s bright flatweave rug. “So... movie?” he prompted. “I brought some DVDs over.”

“Yes! I’ll make popcorn! Well, I guess we should pick a movie first.” Pixie scooted down to the end of the bed and then reached for Michael’s bag. Before she had zipped it open, however, she heard a rather large thump coming through the wall. “What the fuck was that?”

Michael sat up, listening intently. “Sounds like it came from the Hissrads.”

Pixie glanced at the wall that separated her bedroom from her neighbors’ apartment. She didn’t know Bull really well, but his wife Lily seemed very nice. They frequently went out in the evenings, but – even when they did stay home together – they were usually very quiet.

There was another thump, followed by a deep groan.

Michael’s eyes widened. “No way,” he muttered, then – much to Pixie’s puzzlement – scrambled up off the bed and headed towards the bedroom window, which he then threw open, leaning out. Curious, Pixie trotted after him.

From here, the sounds were clearer. They heard a series of rough manly moans, mixed in with a higher feminine voice.

“Yes, baby, do it... fuck me harder, Bull... give me every inch of your big, hard cock!”

They could barely make out Bull’s low, but labored response. “Oh, yeah, baby... I know you want it... UH! TAKE IT!”

Michael half-choked on a laugh. “Holy shit,” he said. “They’re fucking.”

“No!” Pixie gasped, though her response was automatic, since Michael’s assessment was obviously correct.

From the next apartment, they heard Lily shout out an enthusiastic “Yee-haw!”

Michael glanced at Pixie. Deadpan, he said, “Oh, yes, Pix. They are totally fucking.”

“Oh, Maker’s balls!” Pixie said. “Could they be any louder?”

Apparently Pixie’s voice had carried, because a heartbeat later, they heard Lily shout. “FUCKING DEAL WITH IT!”

Michael and Pixie stared at each other in shocked silence for a moment. Then they both burst into laughter, trying to contain it by covering their mouths with their hands as they hastily backed away from the window.

Catching his breath, Michael looked at Pixie. “Well, at least _someone_ around here is getting laid.”

“Michael!” Pixie protested, still giggling.

Smiling, Michael leaned down to grab his bag, then slung it over his shoulder. “Come on, Pix. We’ll go watch the movie at my place.”


	2. Hot Guy Alert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our dear friend Claire makes an appearance. As does Fenris. 
> 
> I am ashamed that I am actually posting this ridiculous story, but if it makes Pixie happy, then it's worth it. :)

The first week of the new semester was going okay. Pixie finally remembered where all her classes were, and – thanks to Michael – usually managed to arrive on time. The only monkey wrench in her otherwise tolerable academic existence was her painting instructor, Professor Blackwall. Not only had he harshly criticized Pixie’s most recent work in class – which had merited at least two dozen texts to Michael, punctuated by a disproportionate number of sad emojis – he’d also assigned them a research paper.

Which was due _next week._

And which is how Pixie found herself in an unfamiliar place.

The library.

It wasn’t that Pixie didn’t like books. In fact, quite the opposite. She’d always been an avid reader. It was just that being a fine arts major, she hadn’t expected to need to do research. Even in her art history class last semester, the teacher had been content to spoon-feed the students the information, accompanied by pretty slides of famous artworks. No reading required.

For an art school, however, the library was a lot larger than she’d expected, and surprisingly well-stocked. As she ran her fingers along the thick spines of the books in the section on Impressionism, her excitement began to bubble up, almost eclipsing the sour, sick feeling that Professor Blackwall’s blunt critique had seeded inside her.

Still, she was mentally grumbling to herself. They’d had a model in class. To be honest, Pixie was much more skilled at painting landscapes than people. It also hadn’t helped that the model was male. And – not only that – the model had been one of the most beautiful males she had ever seen. Slim, but deliciously toned, and wearing a tight leotard that did little to hide the lines and planes of his gorgeous body. And – even more deliciously – he was an _elf._

Elves were rare in Kirkwall. Most elves preferred to live in secluded communities, away from humans, especially in less elf-friendly places such as Tevinter or Orlais. In fact, Pixie had never even spoken to an elf before – if she didn’t count Michael’s father. Or Michael himself, though really he was only half-blooded, and therefore passed as human most of the time. Though Pixie was convinced that Michael would have looked super cute if he’d had pointed ears.

However, given the elves’ infamous ethereal beauty, their faces were everywhere – in magazine ads, in movies, and there were even several popular elven boy bands whose videos had racked up millions of hits on YouTube.

The male model in class had been just as breathtakingly beautiful as any of the boys in those bands. Therefore, Pixie had spent far more time undressing the elf with her eyes than she had putting actual marks on her canvas. So when the professor had circled around to evaluate everyone’s progress at the end of the second class, Pixie’s canvas hadn’t been much more than a few hastily scribbled shapes and a few blobs of paint.

“Can I help you find something?”

Pixie startled at the voice. Turning, she saw a stunningly attractive young woman pushing a cart of books. Dressed completely in black, with a jauntily cocked black beret on her head, she looked like she belonged in one of those chic cafes in Orlais. Pixie – whose own locks were a mop of wild curls that needed to be tamed into submission every day – was secretly jealous of the girl’s perfectly sleek long light brown hair.

“Not really,” Pixie said. She was certainly more than capable to navigating around a library. But, once Pixie started talking to someone – even a stranger – it was kind of difficult for her to stop. “Well, actually, my professor – Professor Blackwall, do you know him? He’s such a fucking self-righteous bastard. But he gave us this research paper. On any art style we wanted. So I was thinking about doing something on Post-Impressionism.” Pixie paused, then smiled. “I like Van Gogh.” When the other girl didn’t respond immediately, Pixie bit her lip, fretting. “Do you think I should choose something else?”

The girl’s black-lacquered fingernails clacked against the cart as she considered Pixie for a thoughtful moment. “Yeah, Blackwall’s a dickbag,” she finally said. “But if you want to win him over... you might want to write about Dadaism. Professor Dickbag will eat that shit up.”

“Oh, Maker!” Pixie gushed. She was so happy she would have grabbed the girl and hugged her, if only the cart hadn’t been in her way. “Thank you! You’ve saved my life! You’re awesome! I’ll... I’ll... I’ll bring you cookies!”

The girl’s eyebrows rose briefly in confusion, but then she smiled. “No problem,” she said. “Would you like me to show you where the books on Dadaism are?”

“Yes!”

Pixie followed the girl down the aisle to a different one. Once the girl had indicated the section, Pixie began to pick up and flip through random books, hoping that something would inspire her to care about the subject.

The girl was lingering. “Say,” she said after a moment. “Aren’t you in my composition class? With Professor Wynne?”

Pixie lifted her gaze from the book in her hand. It took her a moment, but she was pretty sure she’d seen the girl before. “Oh! You always sit in the back, yes?”

Pixie and the girl began chatting about their shared class. Then they began talking about some of the other professors. Soon they were conversing away as if they’d known each other all their lives. Pixie may have been shy around strangers, but once she decided she liked someone, then she would tell them everything. That filter that most people had? Pixie most definitely lacked it.

Claire – who was also a freshman and a fine arts major like Pixie – didn’t seem to mind Pixie’s lack of filter or her bubbly enthusiasm in the slightest. She nodded knowingly when Pixie avidly described her stuffed nug collection, and laughed heartily when Pixie told the story of how she’d discovered that Michael was a chronic bed-wetter at the age of nine.

 _Oh, fuck._ She probably shouldn’t have told this girl – this stranger – one of Michael’s most embarrassing secrets. She was about to beg Claire to forget she’d said anything when Claire suddenly pulled up short at the end of the aisle they’d been walking down.

“Woah,” Claire said. “Hot guy alert.”

Pixie immediately forgot everything she’d been about to say when her eyes fell on the young man who was sitting at one of the tables by himself, leafing through a book.

Lean body. Smooth skin the color of coffee-milk, lined with abstract white tattoos. Supple hard-edged lips that fell naturally into a sultry pout. Ears that tapered into delicate points, lined with a series of tiny gold hoops. Soft-looking white hair that hung a bit long, down his neck and into his eyes, which – although he wasn’t looking at them – Pixie already knew were as green as the antique Antivan jade in the Kirkwall Museum.

The model from her painting class.

Fenris.

Pixie automatically latched onto Claire’s arm, hissing under her breath. “Oh, fucking Maker,” she murmured. “That’s the guy I was telling you about!”

Claire’s eyebrows rose a bit. She then considered the elf briefly before smiling slyly at Pixie. “Well, here’s your chance,” she said. “Go talk to him.”

Pixie hesitated. Talking to guys wasn’t usually a problem. She flirted with them all the time. In particular, she enjoyed teasing the dorks in the apartment building. But this man... this elf... Maker’s balls, he was too fucking perfect.

Claire made a noise – a little hum that was practically salacious. “I bet he has those tattoos on his cock.”

Pixie swallowed hard at the mere thought of _that._ “Fuck...” she murmured. Then, curiously, “Wouldn’t that _hurt?”_

Claire shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” she said, grinning again as she shoved Pixie towards the object of their admiration.

Brilliant green eyes snapped up as Pixie stumbled towards the table where Fenris sat.

_Fuckity fuck fuck._

Too late to back out now, Pixie squared her shoulders and marched forward, putting on her prettiest, most winning smile that made all the boys into puddles of useless ooze at her feet.

_I’m beautiful. He will love me. I got this._

_\-------------------------_

Dorian Pavus exited the elevator and sauntered into the lobby where he found the usual suspects – Anders and Alistair – sitting on the couch, while Cullen paced the hideous rug, mumbling to himself as he flipped through a stack of index cards.

Sliding down into his favorite plushy purple armchair, he jerked his head in the older blond’s direction. “What’s he doing?”

“Studying for the GRE,” Anders said. “Tonight is vocab night.”

Dorian’s eyes slid slowly up and down the oblivious, pacing blond. “On a Friday night?” he asked. “Seriously, Cullen, can’t you get a date?”

Cullen came to a stop. Adjusting his glasses, he stared down at Dorian. “A date?”

Dorian chuckled. “Yes. A date. Surely you’ve heard of them before. Often involving dinner and a movie, and ending with a kiss,” he drawled, then smiled coyly. “In some interesting places other than on your lips, if you’re lucky.”

“Oh,” Cullen said, tone flat. Dismissive. “To be honest, I’m not really interested in dating anyone.”

Alistair and Anders both laughed. When Dorian gave them a blank look, Alistair said, “Cullen’s only interested in Pixie.”

Dorian arched an elegant eyebrow. “You mean that gorgeous girl who lives on the third floor? The bubbly one?” he asked. When the boys nodded, Dorian turned back to Cullen. “Then why aren’t you dating _her?”_

“Because he’s too chicken to ask her out,” Alistair said, with an almost gleeful grin.

Cullen’s fingers traced over the edges of his index cards. Then he dropped down on the couch next to Alistair with a heavy sigh. “You know, I... I can’t sleep because of her.” Sighing again, he stared down at the cards in his lap for a moment. “Ever since I was seven, and she was five,” he admitted. “She stuck her tongue out at me in the elevator, and since then... she’s all I can think about.”

Dorian blinked. Tried to bite back his laughter as Anders and Alistair rolled their eyes. Unable to contain himself, half-laughing, he blurted out, “Maker’s arse, are you for real?”

Before Cullen could formulate an answer, the front door of the building burst open and Michael, with Pixie hanging on his arm, stepped in.

“– Michael, no. You have to come with me,” Pixie was saying.

Michael stopped, just before the security man’s desk. Smiled briefly at the guard who stood behind it as he lifted his sunglasses and propped them on his head. “Pixie,” he muttered. “Like... really?”

Pixie just clamped down on his arm harder, and began to shake him to emphasize the severity of her need. “Please, Michael!” she pleaded. Then she lowered her voice so the dork patrol on the other side of the lobby wouldn’t hear. “I’ve never... you know... actually been on a date before.”

Michael sniggered. “Pix, it’s not brain surgery,” he said dryly. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Pixie wasn’t getting anywhere. But she had one more weapon in her arsenal.

The puppy dog eyes.

For a moment, Michael remained steadfast. She could see the struggle on his face before he finally crumbled. He heaved a disgusted sigh. “Okay. _Fine_. I’ll go.”

“WHEE!” Pixie squealed, bouncing up and down with excitement. “I’m gonna go change! Wait here!”

Still squealing, Pixie squeezed Michael in a big hug once before she left him staggering from her attack, and pranced off to the elevator, ignoring the stares from the boys.

As the elevator dinged closed, Michael sighed to himself, and cast a glance at the security guard, who was casually leaning against his desk, and regarding Michael with wry amusement. When Michael raised a questioning eyebrow, the security man snickered, then said, most seriously, “This is a judgment free zone, dude.”

Despite himself, Michael laughed. “Thanks, Krem,” he said, then made his way over to the others. Greeting everyone, he tossed himself down in the remaining arm chair to wait.

And suddenly realized that he was sitting across from Mister Number Two on the No Bang List himself.

Dorian Pavus.

Who was clearly looking at him with the prettiest pair of gray eyes that Michael had ever seen.

Mentally, he cursed himself. Kirkwall was full of hot guys, sure. But he hadn’t been this attracted to any of them, not since he’d had that crush on pretty boy Sebastian Vael back in high school. Though, to be fair, almost everyone had crushed on Sebastian back then. It was probably just as well that Sebastian wasn’t gay, thus saving Michael from any actual temptation.

Dorian, though... there’d been no evidence yet about which direction the man’s tastes leaned.

“Your friend Pixie,” Dorian said, with a voice so velvety that Michael could feel it on his skin. “Is she always that enthusiastic?”

“You’ve no idea.”

Dorian seemed to consider for a moment. “She’s very pretty.”

Michael felt himself tense. _He likes Pixie,_ Michael thought. _Not gay._

Funny how disappointing that felt.

Irked by his own bitterness, Michael let his next words snap. “Too bad for you, Tevinter,” he lied, “but you’re really not Pixie’s type.”

Dorian’s eyebrow twitched. Then he snorted. “That I find impossible to believe. I’m _everyone’s_ type.”

Creators, was he really that cocky? If there was one thing that Michael couldn’t abide, it was another man who out-sassed him. “If by ‘everyone’ you mean the lonely, half-blind and desperate, then maybe I’ll believe you.”

“Bitch, please,” Dorian shot back without missing a beat. “My seventy-five year old grandmother is hotter than you.”

 _Fuck._ Michael refused to let this arrogant prick have the last word. “If I throw a stick, will you leave?”

Dorian regarded him innocently. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he drawled. “Was I meant to be offended? Because the only thing offending me is your face.”

Anders snorted a laugh.

Before Michael could retort, the door opened and a young, white-haired elven man stepped in.

“Can I help you?” Krem asked.

“Yes,” the elf said, voice all deep, luscious thunder. “I’m here to pick up Pixie.”

Michael pushed himself up off his chair. Approached the elf. “We appreciate punctuality, elf boy,” he drawled as he circled around the new arrival. “Pix will be down soon. She’s just bleaching her lady beard.”

Fenris stared at the blond man in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Michael leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, as he gestured at his own chin. “Things were getting a little Frida Khalo around this area. Not pretty.”

Confused, Fenris stared at him.

In that moment, the elevator dinged open and Pixie flounced out, dressed to kill in a slinky black shirt with an explosion of red ruffles beneath a black jacket adorned with numerous straps and buckles over jeans. The look was completed with a jauntily-cocked fedora and blood-red lipstick on her prettily curving lips.

Ignoring the boys again, she flounced up to Michael and Fenris. “Are you ready?”

Fenris’ eyes did a slow, appreciative sweep over Pixie’s outfit. “You look... stunning.”

Pixie grinned. “Thanks!” Still smiling, she slid her arm into Michael’s, already dragging the blond towards the door. “Okay, let’s go! We’re gonna have so much fun!”

More confused than ever, Fenris just stared after them for a moment. Then he hastened to catch up to them.

As the door swung shut behind them, Dorian turned to the boys on the couch. “He’s going, too?”

Alistair and Anders both turned to Cullen with a meaningful look.

Cullen sighed. “I know, I know,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t love a girl who toys with people’s hearts.”

Alistair snickered. “And _other_ body parts.”

Cullen made a disgruntled sound as he gave the younger man a sharp look. “What was that, hmm? You’re making penis jokes now?” He sighed again. “Maker’s breath, Alistair.”

Dorian steepled his fingers, pressing them against his lips in thought. “Cullen?” he finally said. “Does that girl even _know_ that you have feelings for her?”

Behind Cullen’s back, Anders emphatically shook his head.

“Oh,” Cullen flustered. “Well, I... it’s not... well... you know.”

Dorian bit back a sigh. These southern boys... _hopeless!_ Not that he was, by any means, an expert on romance. Better not to say anything. Even though – to be honest – he was still rather annoyed by that cocky bastard Michael. If there was one thing that Dorian couldn’t abide, it was another man who out-sassed him.

 _Maker,_ Dorian thought. _I should have just stayed in Minrathous._

_\-------------------------_

After they’d had a cheap – but surprisingly delightful – dinner at the Blooming Noodle, Pixie decided that she wanted to go do karaoke at the Hanged Man.

This was Pixie’s date, so Michael followed his best friend’s lead. He wasn’t sure what the poor elf boy must have thought of their antics, even though Michael had been surreptitiously been watching both of them, trying to get a read on everyone’s feelings. Fenris – despite whatever he’d been thinking – had managed to take having Michael as a third wheel on his date completely in stride. If he’d been unhappy about it, he certainly didn’t let it show.

In fact, he’d managed to keep up his share of the conversation over dinner. He’d smiled at all their jokes, and hadn’t seemed put out by the ones he didn’t understand. After thirteen years of friendship, Michael and Pixie’s collection of private jokes had reached epic proportions – so much that it was almost as if they spoke their own private language.

Pixie, of course, was anxious. It was just her nature to hide that aspect of herself with an outgoing, bubbly personality. And Michael sometimes served as her shield.

Still, getting to know Fenris, Michael came to a few conclusions. The elf was genuinely into Pixie – that much was obvious just by the way he looked at her. Also, he was pretty laid back, which, to be honest, was the sort of guy that Pixie – just the opposite – would need. Finally, not only was he intelligent, but he wasn’t a douchebag like so many of the boys Pixie had crushed on in high school. Fenris was _nice._

Also, it may have been shallow, but Fenris had another thing going in his favor. Michael had been trying not to notice, but at some point, when Fenris had set down his chopsticks and lifted long, elegant fingers to push back a lock of his snow-white hair, lips quirking up in a pleased little smile, Michael had the following thought:

_Holy fuck, this guy is ridiculously hot._

At the bar after dinner, they mostly ignored the poor boy. Pixie insisted that Michael sing with her. Of course they sang Bowie. And it certainly wasn’t the first time they’d done karaoke at the Hanged Man. By now, he and Pixie were experts at revving up the crowd. They were practically famous, and everyone loved them, even the regular drunks who usually sat moping into their whiskey glasses at the end of the bar.

They were still high on applause when they finally staggered back out onto the street.

“Whee!” Pixie exclaimed as she stumbled along, holding onto Michael’s arm for support. “That was great!”

Michael smiled indulgently. “Well, we _are_ the best lip-synchers those poor bastards have ever seen.”

Fenris, trailing along beside them, offered a smile. “That was quite a spectacle,” he said. “The two of you were amazing.”

Pixie’s eyes were bright as she looked up at Michael. “Now what should we do?”

Michael knew that Pixie was in safe hands with Fenris, and that his time as third wheel and shield was done. Gently he extricated himself from Pixie’s hands, and put a distance between them. “I don’t know about you, but it’s time I head off.” Smiling slyly, he added, “It’s still early enough that I may still have a chance at a decent hook-up.”

Pixie blinked at him. “Wait – what?” she sputtered. “You’re ditching me?”

Michael just continued to smile slyly. “You just continue on your date, Pix,” he said, as he took a decisive step back, putting even more distance between himself and the other two. “And... I’m sure you two kids have more _fun_ things to do.”

Pixie stared at him. “But Michael – ”

He didn’t let her finish. “Now. Go on, Pix. Have fun.” Stepping away, he tipped an imaginary hat. “Oh, and don’t forget to use a condom. Or... two.”

Pixie reached out, but Michael had already slipped away, beyond her grasp. _Shit_. He was really leaving and even the puppy eyes wouldn’t save her now. She knew it.

At his retreating figure, she called out, “I love you!”

“I love you more.”

Michael’s smile was the last thing she saw before he disappeared into the night.

Pixie turned to look at Fenris.

Now they were alone.

And – thanks to Michael – now thinking about _condoms._

_Fuck._

For a moment they stood in the awkward silence.

Fenris coughed delicately into his fist, then offered Pixie a smile.

“Coffee?” he said.

 


	3. Michael is Gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is now TRF canon that in any modern AU, The Bone Pit is a gay club. 
> 
> Here's a slightly longer chapter for you, Pix. I'm certain it was worth the wait. Also - I've been writing too much gay porn, because while writing this, I forgot that I didn't have to refer to everyone by name all the time. Like, I can just use he/she pronouns and it's clear who is doing what. Ha ha ha.
> 
> Warning for het sex. *laughs*

_Holy shitballs crap fuck Andraste’s lily-white tits._

She’d practically done it. _Sex_. With Fenris. The hottest elf in all of Kirkwall.

Well, okay, not really. After coffee, she’d said yes when Fenris had invited her back to his dorm room. After Michael’s departure, Fenris had accompanied her to the coffee shop near campus where he worked part time. All mismatched cushy chairs, with dozens of framed artworks in a variety of styles all over the walls, Rise and Grind was small, cozy and funky. Pixie had liked the artsy atmosphere of the place. Even more she’d liked how Fenris’ pretty green eyes remained fixed on her face. And that rush of heat that crackled through her flesh when Fenris’ fingers quite casually – but purposefully – brushed over hers on top of the tiny table between them.

Back in his dorm room, they’d been on the bed. Kissing. Tawny-colored fingers marked by white ink pushed her shirt up and over her head, sweeping gently over her skin. Then Fenris reached out, pressing firm lips against hers, tasting of sugary foam and the cigarette they’d shared on the sidewalk outside the dorm. Breath hot, and softly teasing tongue. Hands sliding around her waist, then up her ribs. Straddling him, Pixie could feel the effect that their kissing was having on him.

 _Maker, he’s hard._ She could feel it right between her thighs. Only a few thin layers of clothing stood between the elf’s and Pixie’s sex.

In his throat, Fenris made a deep, needy noise that shot straight down to her core.

It was at that moment, however, that the door burst open and Fenris’ drunk roommate stumbled in. Mumbling a mostly incoherent apology, the tall, dark-haired man collapsed fully clothed on the other bed.

Sexy times over.

Fenris was somewhat flustered as he stammered out his apologies at the door, speaking in hushed tones, as Hawke snored loudly in his own bed. Maker, Fenris was so _cute_ , and Pixie internally squealed when he shyly met her eyes and told her to hoped that he could see her again. Playing it cool, Pixie agreed, and then – after one more quick kiss – she was back outside on the sidewalk.

The first thing she did was text Michael. Three times.

As she walked towards Skyhold Apartments, she fretted. If he were home, Michael would have answered by now, unless he was sleeping. But it was way too early for Michael to be in bed. Which meant that he was probably still out, trying to hook up. And there was only place Michael ever went when he was on prowl.

The Bone Pit.

Pixie immediately changed course and headed towards the gay club. Fortunately, the winter night was mild, and the club was only a few blocks away from the university, so the walk wasn't unpleasant. As she walked up, she noticed that there was a line outside the club that stretched all the way down the sidewalk and around the building.

Ignoring the irate stares of the people waiting, Pixie breezed straight past them and up to the bouncer, whose name she knew was Sten. She greeted him brightly. “Hi, Sten. Could you let me in please?”

Sten, whose expression was stonier than Mount Rushmore, gazed coolly down on her. “You must wait in line.”

Well, that was totally not what Pixie had expected at all. “I’ll have you know that I’m here with Michael Wolf.”

Sten’s expression didn’t change, except to become slightly more grumpy. “You and everyone else. Now – move out of the way.”

Pouting, Pixie stepped aside. By Sten’s response, Michael was definitely here. But she didn't want to wait in line – she couldn’t! She had to tell him all about her little adventure with the yummy elf!

As she stood there, two girls approached the bouncer. Big hair, short skirts, and too much make-up. _Total skanks,_ in Pixe’s opinion. Except that as soon as they smiled, Sten reached over to unhook the velvet rope, and allowed the skanks entrance.

Pixie gave Sten her best angry-Pixie glare. Except it went to waste, as the bouncer was completely ignoring her. Stomping her feet against the curb, she brooded for a little bit. She had to talk to Michael, or else she would burst. How was she going to get into the club?

After a moment’s reflection, a light bulb flicked on over Pixie’s head. Hurrying, she retreated around the corner into a private-looking alley. First she wriggled out of her jeans, then pulled her shirt down until it just covered her panties. Next, she took off her hat, then shook out her hair so that it fell in a veritable lion’s mane all around her head. Jeans and hat were shoved into her bag. She did a quick reapply of her red lipstick, then strutted her way back to the front door, with a suggestive wriggle in her hips.

Sten lifted the velvet rope and slutted-up Pixie sailed straight into the club.

She found Michael leaning against the bar, sipping a drink as he watched the crowd.

“Michael!” Pixie shouted, and grabbed onto his hands. “I’ve been looking for you!” Before Michael could respond, the music changed, and _Mucho Mambo Sway_ came on. “Ah, shit! I love this song! Let’s dance!”

Michael smiled indulgently and allowed Pixie to drag him out to the dance floor.

“What happened to Fenris?” Michael shouted over the music as they began to shimmy and sway.

“Michael!” Pixie’s teeth, in a Cheshire Cat grin, glowed blue-light under the flashing black light. “Holy shit, I came here to tell you! You won’t believe it!”

Michael’s laugh was swallowed up by the music. “Please tell me you banged him!”

Pixie was about to tell him. About the coffee. The fingers brushing. The smoldering hot looks. The deep sexy kissing. Fenris peeling off her shirt. The fact that she’d finally felt her first elf boner. Except a young man suddenly appeared between them.

Slim body dressed in leather. Silky straight blond hair to his shoulder. A gorgeous face, upon which a tattoo in dark brown ink swirled over a high cheekbone. And pointy ears – an elf.

He’d put himself between Pixie and Michael. He moved gracefully, like liquid silk, dancing to the music. Dancing with Michael.

Pixie saw Michael’s interest light up his face. Not that Pixie could blame him because damn, this elf was smoking hot. Before she knew it, the blond elf was dancing Michael away from her. Arms coyly around Michael’s shoulders.

Kissing him.

“Michael?” Pixie yelled. Then louder, “Michael!”

Had he even heard her? All Pixie knew was that Michael now had a sexy elf on top of his lips, dragging him off to do _something_ in the shadows. Michael was now a lost cause.

_Shit fuckballs crap._

Disheartened, Pixie left the club and headed home alone.

\-------------------------

A few hours later, Michael let himself into his apartment. His mother had left the lamp on the console table in the entryway on, so he smiled at his reflection as he deposited his keys in the usual place – a fluted glass bowl his aunt had given his parents as a wedding present.

Creeping quietly towards his room, Michael considered how he felt. He should have been tired, but after his encounter at the Bone Pit, he was feeling energized. As if Zevran were a revitalizing elixir. Given Zev’s reputation, Michael knew better than to expect anything more than a little fun. But, Creators, Zevran _was_ fun.

Since he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he wasn’t particularly bothered to find Pixie curled up under the blankets on his bed. Moving quietly not to wake her, he tossed his jacket over the chair, kicked off his shoes, and once he’d exchanged his jeans for pajama bottoms, slipped into the bed next to his best friend.

As Michael pulled the blankets up, Pixie stirred. Rolling over in the bed, she blinked sleepily at him. “Michael,” she murmured. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get a watch,” he teased.

Pixie blinked again. Then she remembered. Sitting up, she stared down at him in what was supposed to be a cross manner, but, judging by Michael’s expression, her irritation wasn’t clear. So she punched him in the shoulder. “Since when do you actually go around banging boys?”

Michael cocked an eyebrow. Technically speaking, this evening’s diversions hadn’t included any actual banging, but... well, his activities with Zevran had been far from chaste.

He smiled coyly up at her. “Since I found actual cute boys to bang.”

Pixie frowned. “But in high school...”

“UGH.” Michael threw an arm dramatically across his brow. “Pix, my sexuality in high school was mostly hypothetical, but now... college is different. Now there’s lots of guys.”

Pixie chewed on her bottom lip for a long moment, considering this. “So, now you’re like... totally gay?”

“Pix,” Michael said with all the patience he could muster, “I’ve always been totally gay.”

Pixie blinked again. Then she cleared her throat. “Ah... right,“ she mumbled, then forced a little giggle. “Of course! I mean, obviously, duh.” Clearing her throat again she looked at Michael with eyes that were suddenly wide, her voice small. “Nothing has to change, right? We’re still Michael and Pixie?”

Creators, Pixie always knew how to punch him right in his well-hidden feels. He offered her a warm smile. “Yes, we’ll always be Pixie and Michael,” he said, then his grin turned sly. “Now we’re just Pixie and Michael plus hot boys.”

“Yay!” Pixie squealed, then ninja hugged him so hard, it knocked the breath clear out of his lungs. Grateful that she hadn’t crushed any of his favorite body parts, Michael gently pushed her away. When she looked at him curiously, he grinned again.

“And you, Pix...” he drawled teasingly. “Creators, when are you going to stop doing things that end with – _alking_ and start doing things that end with – _ucking?”_

To emphasize the last word, he thrust his hips up, causing Pixie to burst out laughing.

As her laughter died down, he gave her a playful shove. “Seriously, Pix... what are you waiting for?”

Pixie shrugged. “I don’t know... I just haven’t found the right guy, I guess.”

“Well, you like that Fenris guy, right?” Michael woofed. “Seriously, he’s nice, he likes you, and he’s totally fuckable.”

“Michael!” Pixie giggled. Then she threw herself down next to Michael, positioning herself under his arm. “Maker, I’m so fucking tired. Snuggle me!”

Michael put his arm around Pixie as she cuddled closer. As he trailed his hand almost absentmindedly up and down her arm, he listened to her breathing slow down and deepen. Only then did he remember Pixie’s excitement from earlier when she’d come to the club to find him.

“Pix? What did you come to tell me?”

Pixie made a little sighing noise, and her voice was husky with sleep. “Forget it,” she murmured. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

\-------------------------

Late afternoon light poured in through the tall windows of the library as Pixie trailed along behind Claire’s cart as the elegant girl made her way casually through the section on Postmodernism, stopping every now and then to return a book to its waiting gap on the shelf. Hating to be useless, Pixie helped.

“So,” Claire said as they passed into the Expressionism aisle. “I heard a rumor that you were in Fenris’ dorm room the other night.”

Pixie plunked a heavy tome onto the shelf before her. “How’d you hear about that?“ she wondered. When Claire just shrugged, Pixie added, “I was but... well, his roommate showed up. We barely made it to second base!”

“You mean Hawke?“ Claire asked. When Pixie nodded, Claire became thoughtful. “Yeah, I know him. Kind of cute, but.. a total doofus.”

Pixie snickered. “He sounds like all the boys who live in my building,” she said, then reconsidered. “Well... except for Dorian Pavus.”

Claire’s eyebrows nearly shot up into her hairline. “Dorian Pavus lives in your building? Hot _damn_.” Putting her hand on her hip, she gave Pixie a suspicious look. “Elf boys are hot and all, but... why don’t you just hook up with him?”

Pixie gave a lilting little shrug. “Because he’s on the List.”

“Oh,” Claire said. She’d heard about Pixie and Michael’s No-Bang List, and it took all her effort not to roll her eyes. In her opinion, a Boys-We-Ought-to-Bang List would have been a lot more _fun._ But she’d become fond of Pixie in a relatively short time, and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. As if Pixie were the sister she’d never had. A sister she actually _liked._

Claire started pushing the book cart again. The girls worked in silence for a moment. Then, Pixie suddenly made a thoughtful noise. “You know...” she said. “This is kind of fun.”

Once again, Claire barely managed to not roll her eyes. But her look was somewhat cross. “Work study is _not_ fun.”

“No, I mean you and me. Girl talk. I’ve never had a female friend before. All my life it’s always been.... well, just Michael.”

Claire paused, pursing her lips as her dainty hand casually stroked the colorful spine of a book on Warhol. Then she smiled. “Glad to be of service.”

The girls returned to their task. Surreptitiously under her eyelashes, Pixie considered Claire for a moment. Although they were the same age, Claire seemed so much more worldly. Surely she would have an answer to Pixie’s burning question. She had no other women to ask, and Michael was a guy, so asking him would be pointless.

“Claire? What is sex like?“

Claire’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re a virgin? NO FUCKING WAY.”

A dark-haired boy studying at the nearby table glared sharply at them, hissing. _“Shh.”_

Ignoring the library’s only patron, Claire continued to stare at Pixie. “What about Fenris?” she asked. “He must be willing.”

Pixie fidgeted with the buttons on her coat. “I like him, but... I don’t know if he’s the one.”

Claire’s look became knowing. “Honey,” she drawled. “He doesn’t have to be _the one_ to be the _first_ one.”

Pixie considered that. It was logical. _Still..._

“Well,” she said. “You know, I think life would be so much easier if all guys were like Michael. I’ve literally known him since we were children. He’s my best friend, so I can tell him anything. Like – I totally trust him. And... Michael is half-elven, so he’s super pretty. Really, Michael’s absolutely _perfect_.” Pixie sighed. “No other guy can really compare.”

Claire was silent for a very long time. Then she exhaled sharply through her nose. “Pixie,” she said gently. “Michael is gay.”

 _Michael is gay._ Of course Pixie knew that. She’d always known that ever since she’d caught him staring at Sebastian Vael’s ass like it was a scrumptious cupcake in a bakery shop window. It wasn’t like Pixie was in denial, or anything...

… right?

Pixie’s gaze had drifted, but she glanced up as Claire placed a gentle, almost maternal hand on her arm. “You want my advice?” Claire asked. When Pixie nodded, Claire said, “I think you’d better seriously think about which boy you’re going to spend your time mooning over – the one who wants you, or the one you can never have.”

\-------------------------

Later, as Pixie was exiting the library, she caught sight of Michael. Squealing, she gave him her customary tackle hug. For a moment, she clung to him, reveling in the familiar sensation of his strong arms squeezing her tightly, the warmth of his body, and the familiar smell of his soft hair that tickled the side of her face.

But then Michael was pulling away all too abruptly.

“Sorry, darling,” he murmured. “I’ve got to run. I’ve got a thing.”

Pixie protested as he began to move off. “But Michael! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

He offered an apologetic smile as he continued to back away. “I’m sorry, Pix. I know. I swear I’ll make it up to you later, however you want. But... I really gotta go. Zev’s waiting, and he _hates_ to wait.”

 _Zev..._ the elf from the club. Pixie pouted. “Well... see you never?”

Michael gave her a little wave and a grin. “I love you, Pix.”

“I love you more!” Pixie shouted at Michael’s back.

In a moment, he was gone.

Pixie stood, causing the traffic to flow around her, feeling lost and alone. Funny how she could feel this lonely when she was surrounded by so many people.

Pixie thought for a moment about what Claire had said. She knew that Michael loved her. Just... Just not in that way.

There was only one reasonable course of action.

Turning, Pixie strode determinedly towards the university dorm.

\-------------------------

After knocking on the door, Pixie tried not to fidget. Especially when she heard the sounds of muffled footsteps growing perceptibly louder before the doorknob turned.

In the open doorway, Fenris’ inquisitive look became one of pleased surprise. “Pixie...” he rumbled in that rich, velvety voice of his. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Pixie smiled. “Surprise!”

Fenris returned the smile. _Maker, those lips..._ Briefly they stood, just smiling at each other, then Fenris coughed awkwardly into his fist before he opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

Pixie flounced in. Fenris closed the door behind her, then they sat next to each other on Fenris’ bed.

In silence.

Okay... this was a lot more awkward than Pixie had imagined. And – to be perfectly honest – she’d already imagined sex a _lot._ In general, but lately mostly with Fenris. Worrying her lip, Pixie wondered just how she was going to broach the subject when she felt Fenris’ hand settle softly on top of hers on the mattress between them. Lifting her eyes, Pixie’s heart did a strange little flip as Fenris smiled at her, his lips as warm and inviting as his gaze.

_He likes me._

Pixie was accustomed to boys liking her – just that in the past they had all been dumb, dorky boys, and certainly none of them had made her heart start leaping like a trained dog through a hula hoop. It was strange, but also kind of exciting, and she was pretty sure that if something didn’t happen soon, she was going to freak the fuck out.

 _What should I do?_ Pixie wondered, but then her breath caught as Fenris leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Kissing Fenris was wonderful. She’d known that already, from the tentative kisses he’d given her during their first make-out session. This time, however, there was nothing tentative about his kiss.

It was _all in_. All hungry, supple lips, hot breath mingling with hers, fingers trailing up her arms, past shoulders and neck to firmly cradle her face, and a low growl in his throat that succinctly expressed his need more than any words could. Maker, he smelled good. Pixie’s senses were full of his scent, all pine and musk with a hint of sandalwood and darkroom chemicals and sunshine. His mouth was intoxicating, all devouring lips, dance of tongue, and soft clack of hard teeth.

When Fenris drew back, Pixie was in a breathless daze. Her brain was useless goo, unable to even form a coherent thought. Every sense was filled by the delicious elfy goodness that was Fenris.

“Fuck... me...” Pixie murmured.

Dusky was the smile that blossomed on the elf’s lips, making him even more beautiful. She didn’t know how that was even possible. Maybe it was an elf thing? She probably would have thought to ask Michael later, if she’d even been able to think, but Fenris had apparently just kissed her stupid.

“Pixie,” Fenris murmured, and the sound of her name on his lips caused a shudder of anticipatory pleasure to wash through her.

Fenris reached out, then they were kissing again. Long, drawn-out kisses that would make a woman sell her firstborn child for more. Kisses that stretched her nerves to vibrate like violin strings. Kisses that made her soul sing and her heart dance a fandango.

His fingers were so warm against her face. Pixie quivered as they skimmed down her neck, teasingly skirting around her breasts, before he locked his hands around her waist. Then, with surprisingly strong arms, Fenris was lifting her up and swinging her over so that she was now straddling his lap.

 _Oh, Maker._ She could feel it. His elf boner. And when he shifted his hips, causing it to slide higher up between her legs, her body responded. As if a wizard’s flask had been upended, letting the the magical elixir gush out.

More kissing, and then warm fingers were sweeping up below her shirt, burning where they touched her skin as he lifted the garment off. Pixie’s shirt tossed violently aside, Fenris’ fingers then wove into her hair, hips straining up against her as he ran his tongue up along the underside of her jaw before whispering in her ear.

“Pixe... I want you... so much...” he muttered, in a voice so hot and lush it could have instantly melted a glacier. “What do you want me to do to you?”

 _Hot damn._ Because of the lingering effects of the previous brain melt, Pixie found it hard to think. “Uh... you know... the, umm.... usual?”

Suddenly Fenris was drawing back to meet her eyes. In his, concern. “You have done this before...” he said, clearly skeptical, “haven’t you?”

“What, sex?” Pixie asked with a nervous laugh. “Umm... sure! I mean, of course I have,” she said, mentally adding, _if we are talking about my dreams and fantasies_. “Hundreds of times.”

Fenris’ eyebrows shot up in alarm.

Pixie laughed nervously again. “Oh, shit! Not hundreds. Dozens. Dozens of times.”

Fenris relaxed. Let his fingers trail down through her hair, serious, thoughtful. “It’s all right if you haven’t,” Fenris said. “I don't mind. In fact, I’d be flattered to be your first.”

Pixie’s heart flipped again, this time all the up into her throat as Fenris carefully lowered her down to the bed, then grabbed the back of his t-shirt and with one hand to pull it off, revealing hard planes of velvety light brown skin adorned with ivy-like patterns of sexy white tattoos. Embracing as they kissed, Pixie marveled at the feel of his hard body and that soft, delectable skin.

Fenris growled low again, the noise vibrating all the way through her body to her core. Pixie practically purred as Fenris began to kiss a languorous trail from her lips, down her neck and over her chest, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts through her bra. Glancing up, his eyes seared into hers as he pulled aside the lacy fabric to reveal one of her breasts, which he gently caressed before his tongue darted out to tease her nipple.

Fuck, that felt good. Pixie bit her lip to hold back a whimper as Fenris teased first one nipple with swirling tongue and teeth, then the other. After an eternity of this delicious torment, Fenris continued his trail, leaving butterfly kisses on every rib, twirl of tongue in her navel before arriving at the waistband of her jeans.

 _Pop!_ went the button on Pixie’s pants. Wide-eyed, Pixie watched as Fenris’ long fingers teased down the zipper before he wriggled the pants down off her hips, then her legs. Dropping the pants on the floor beside the bed, Fenris’ eyes lit with admiration as he gazed upon her nearly naked body.

“Pixie...” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat flushed up to her cheeks. “It’s not fair that you’re still dressed and I’m not,” she complained. “Pants – off!”

Fenris’ eyes widened. Then he hastened to obey.

Pixie watched as Fenris jerked down pants. As he did so, he removed his underwear along with them, causing his cock, fully erect, to pop out. It bounced up to slap against his belly, then hovered, wavering.

 _Andraste’s lily white ass._ Pixie had seen plenty of dicks before – Michael had an impressive collection of gay porn bookmarked on his computer and Pixie naturally knew his password – but she’d never seen one this pretty. As velvety as the rest of him, it begged to be touched.

Except that letting Pixie touch it apparently wasn’t on the elf’s agenda, at least at the moment. No sooner than he had finished undressing, he was already settling down between Pixie’s thighs, nails lightly raking her skin as his lips just brushed over her pink cotton panties.

Then he breathed.

Through the damp fabric, she felt the tickling heat of his breath. Suddenly her entire body clenched up like a fist, aching to be touched. And then she nearly exploded when Fenris’s tongue flicked out.

For a while he continued to taunt her by licking her through her panties. Then he pushed the fabric aside, applying tongue to aching flesh.

His tongue moved feather-light. First in circles. Then up and down. Darting teasingly into her entrance before slipping back up again to lavish her clit. Over and over Fenris performed these motions with his clever tongue, driving Pixie closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure.

“Maker, yes... Fenris... don’t stop... it feels so good... Fenris... AHHH!”

 _Oh Maker..._ Pixie had only ever experienced solitary pleasure before. Usually in the shower, with the aid of the pulsating shower head, but... _fuck,_ Fenris’ tongue was ten times better. Her entire body was still vibrating gloriously as Fenris climbed up over her, his chin still glistening, to give her an intimately Pixie-flavored kiss.

Fenris drew back. Eyes intense as he gazed into hers. She could feel his warm breath against her lips. “I want you,” he murmured. “Are you sure...?”

Pixie knew that it was most considerate of him to ask. Most guys wouldn’t have been so thoughtful. But right now, she didn’t want considerate. She wanted to be deflowered. By Fenris. The most beautiful man in all of Kirkwall.

“Yes! Sure! One hundred percent! Fuck me!”

Okay, she wasn’t sure where that last bit had come from. A bit embarrassed, Pixie felt the heat rise to her face again. Yet, whatever awkwardness she felt quickly disappeared upon Fenris’ reaction. Above her, Fenris actually shuddered.

Then, frantically fumbling, he reached over to the bedside table to yank open the drawer. In mere seconds he’d grabbed the silvery packet, ripped it open, and rolled the condom on. Thus prepared, he positioned himself between Pixie’s legs.

 _Sweet Andraste... this is it,_ Pixie thought as she felt Fenris’ cock brushing up between her legs. Thanks to her frank talk with Claire – and the Internet – Pixie knew what to expect the first time. It would hurt. She might bleed. She’d have to grin and bear it, and then next time, it would be easier. Better. This time would be for his pleasure only.

Pixie held her breath as Fenris entered her. Penetrating her slowly, he remained propped up on his elbows, alternating between kissing her and watching her face. Still moving slowly, he started with a few shallow thrusts, each one progressively deeper than the last, until he was buried deep inside her. Once at that point, he paused once more to kiss her lips, then began to rhythmically move his hips.

_Oh Maker, we’re actually doing it._

She was officially no longer a virgin.

Strangely, it hadn’t hurt at all. It felt... well, a little strange, actually. New. But not unpleasant. In fact, as Fenris began to rock against her a little faster, it started to feel different. Pixie marveled at that for a moment.

Fenris’ cock sliding in and out of her? It felt _good._ As in, sexy, sinfully hot, complete turn-on good.

Excitement was rising. Tension building. She could feel every magnificent inch of that elf cock pumping inside her, stimulating something inside that had been waiting to waken. She didn’t think about it. No, instead she threw her arms around Fenris’ neck, jerking him down so his hard body was flush with hers, and she made a little squeal of delight as Fenris breathed her name, hot as dragon’s breath, into her ear.

Pixie’s hands slid up, threading into his beautiful, soft hair. “Fenris... more... yes!”

Fenris growled softly. Increased his efforts. One hand slid down to squeeze her breast as he crushed her lips with his. In-between kisses, he let out a groan. “Oh, _kaffas_... it feels so... Maker, I _can’t...”_

Hot tongue. Velvety skin over tensing muscles. Pistoning cock suddenly throbbing deep inside her. It was all too much. Suddenly, Pixie was gone, swept away by wave after wave of mind-obliterating pleasure.

As Fenris flopped down on the bed beside her, Pixie gradually floated back from la-la land. Thoughts, like stray sheep, began to wander back.

Fenris had just fucked her senseless. He’d made her come twice, the very first time, once with his mouth, the second with his dick. In all realistic scenarios, _that_ should have been impossible. Except, here Pixie was, snuggled up in the arms of a gorgeous elf man, completely sexually satisfied and happier than she’d ever been in her life.

She wondered how Fenris had managed to accomplish the impossible.

Obviously, there was only one logical answer.

_Elf dick is magical._


	4. We're Having a Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing hasn't been going well for me lately, so this probably isn't my best chapter. There isn't even any smut (shocking, I know). But Pixie won't care, even though this chapter is mostly about Michael (well, me). With appearances by both Lily and Claire. 
> 
> I totally stole the image of Krem "thuggishly" chewing on a toothpick from Six Lily Petals because it's perfect.

It was a glorious morning – birds were chirping, the sky was clear, and the weather was unusually warm for this time of year. The sort of day that was perfect for falling in love.

Michael slept through most of it.

Running his hands though the disaster that was his hair, he wandered out of his bedroom. Upon the dining room table, he found the note his mother had written, saying she was going to the stamp show and would be back that afternoon. In the kitchen he found the pot of coffee she’d left him, still hot. As he prepared himself a cup, he reflected on the shitty evening he’d had last night.

His date with Zevran hadn’t gone as planned. No, the sexy elf’s eye had been caught by a handsome dude in a limo. Michael didn’t know whether Zevran had been more drawn to the older man’s looks or his money, but either way, Michael had been left high and dry. Dumped. After that, it had been a very short trip into self-pity land, with an unpleasant pit stop in self-loathing.

On route, he’d drunk far too much – which seemed a perfectly reasonable reaction to being dumped – and somehow ended up in a corner with the oldest and most unattractive guy in the club, locking lips.

 _Ugh._ It could have been worse, he supposed – they could have done a lot more than sloppily make out.

As he opened the sliding door to the balcony and stepped outside, he decided it was better not to think about it ever again.

He was just lifting the coffee mug – the one with the sunburst symbol and the words _The Maker Loves Me_ , which Pixie had given him one Satinalia as a joke – when the screaming match began.

He recognized the voices as the Hissrads. As they argued, Lily’s voice became more shrill, while Bull’s became deeper, louder, and more menacing. The fact that he could hear them with Pixie's apartment between them was impressive indeed.

His hands clenched more tightly around the cup as their voices rose another notch. Michael tried to block them out. Tried not to think about his father. Tried not to remember the time he’d hid, under the table, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking...

A particularly loud crash jolted him out of that unpleasant memory. This was immediately followed by Lily’s outraged shout.

_Then you can get the fuck out of here, you fucking piece of fuck!_

A moment passed, then there was a faint slam. Another moment and then Lily stepped out onto her own balcony, staring angrily at the perfect day to fall in love as if she wanted to punch its stupid face.

Michael froze. He hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop on any of that. It was none of his business, and he certainly didn’t want to get involved. He had decided the best thing to do would be to try to slip quietly back into his own apartment unseen.

Of course, it was in that moment that Lily turned her head, and her eyes landed right on him. Her expression raw, angry, and full of pain. It stayed that way for a moment before she composed her face into something less terrible.

Michael shifted the coffee mug in his hands. This was awkward. He felt like he should say _something_... but he didn’t know what. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Are you... okay?”

The look Lily gave him made him feel like an idiot.

Okay, that had been a dumb question, as she clearly not okay. He still didn't know what to say, though. Calming Pixie down when she was upset he could handle – hugging usually did the trick. But he doubted that Lily was in a hugging kind of mood.

Still, there was only one thing that helped his mother feel better when she was in a bad mood.

Michael made a welcoming gesture. “Here, now,” he said. “Come inside. I'll make you some tea.”

Lily regarded him curiously for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I’ll be right over.”

Ten minutes later, Lily sat at Michael’s kitchen table as the young man poured her a cup of Oolong from an odd blue ceramic teapot adorned with roses and monkeys.

Lily pointed one long finger at the teapot as Michael set it on the table. “That has to be one of the ugliest things I have ever seen.”

Michael slid down into the chair across from her, and picked up his own cup. “My mother likes to collect things,” he said. “The weirder, the better.”

Lily leaned back in the chair, sipping from her own mug, upon which was written WHATEVER. The tea was good, some sort of loose-leaf thing the boy had pulled from a neat row of tea tins. And boy he certainly was – looking ever younger than a college student should, and – typical of the elven people - he was small in stature, slim, and rather effeminate. Completely the opposite of Lily’s usual type. Lily liked big, manly men – the brawnier they were, the more attraction she felt. Like with Bull.

Thinking about Bull reminded her of the epic argument they’d just had. The fight to end all fights. She’d seen it coming a long time ago, but that didn’t make his storming angrily out the door any less shocking when it happened.

Michael cleared his throat again. “So, you... ah... want to talk about it?”

Lily had no intentions of dumping her dirty laundry in her neighbor’s lap. Except her mouth betrayed her, releasing a torrent of anger along with her words.

“Like I knew he wanted to be polyamorous when we got married,” Lily grumbled. “I even agreed to it. In theory it sounded great – everyone fucks whomever they want to fuck, in whatever ways they want to fuck, then goes home and eats grilled corn and steak while watching reruns of _Star Trek_ , Everything just great. Perfect. At least until one big dumb asshole goes and falls in fucking love. With a fucking barmaid. With red hair and big ass tits.”

Lily paused, trying to steady her shaking hands.

Michael was silent for a moment, still and pallid as a wax figure. Then he said, “You... watch _Star Trek?”_

Lily heaved a sigh. “Sorry. I didn't mean to dump this shit on you. But.... ugh. Fucking men. They suck.”

Wrapping his hands around his tea, Michael smiled wryly. “Oh, don't worry, honey. I'm right there with you.”

Lily grunted. Sipped her tea. It was good, but she reached for the jar of honey Michael had set on the table. Stirring the goopy golden liquid around with her spoon, she considered the boy again. Seriously, what the fuck did he know about heartbreak? He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, nineteen, tops. Almost young enough to be her nephew.

 _Aunt Lily_... that had a nice ring to it.

Still, he was annoying, like most people his age. “So you’re an expert on how men suck, is that it?”

Michael suddenly choked on his tea. He coughed into his fist. “I... if you mean...”

Lily suddenly realized her unintended innuendo. Funny, that, because she usually intended them. “Oh, shit! No! That’s not what I meant.”

. Michael looked relieved. “Oh. Right.” Then, as his fingers traced the rim of his teacup, his expression became serious. “I live with my mom, you know,” he said quietly. “My dad... well, he ran off with another woman, so...” Trailing off, he shrugged. “I’m glad he’s gone, though. My parents used to fight. A lot.”

After a few years of working as a therapist, it took Lily a bit of effort to bite her tongue and ask the usual question: _And how did that make you feel?_ Besides, it was pretty obvious how he felt about it. Not too fucking good.

“How old were you when that happened?”

“Fourteen.”

Fourteen-year-old boys needed fathers. Even elven ones. Still, Lily was surprised that Michael's father had stayed that long. Elves – particularly elven males – were infamous for their libidinous behavior. More than any other race, elves thrived on sex. “Are you still in touch with him at all?”

Michael shook his head. “No. Not unless you count a postcard from three years ago that says _Welcome to the Dales.”_

“Oof,” Lily huffed sympathetically. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

For a minute, they sipped their tea in the calm silence of the sunny-yellow kitchen.

“So,” Michael said eventually. “What are you going to do?”

Lily considered that. “Well, you know what they say, sugar,” she said with a mischievous grin. “If you fall off the bull, best thing to do is to find a big ole stallion to climb up on and take the ride of your life.”

_\-------------------------_

Staring down at the phone in his hand, Michael wasn’t looking where he was going. When he stepped off the elevator, he collided with another body. Looking up, a strange spark of _something_ jolted up his spine when he realized who he’d just bumped into.

Dorian Pavus.

Dorian lifted his sunglasses, his eyes sweeping up and down Michael’s outfit. “And you actually go out in public like this?” Dorian scoffed. “I mean seriously – have you ever even considered wearing something that doesn’t scream ‘King of Queer Kirkwall?’”

Michael’s lips tightened. He was certain of it now – not only was Dorian interested in Pixie, he was also a blighted homophobe.

Angry, Michael snapped. “Says the man wearing _eyeliner.”_

Unperturbed, Dorian just cocked his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you over your _outfit.”_

“Well, can you hear this?” Michael asked, hand extended towards the floor, fingers in a fist except for the middle one. “No?” he asked, and starting to rotate his hand up. “Well, let me turn it up for you –”

Before Michael could flip Dorian the bird, however, Pixie rushed up and threw herself on top of him in an unexpected ninja hug.

“Michael!” Pixie shouted. “We’re having a party!”

Caught unawares, all Michael could do was blink.

Pixie, more enthusiastic than usual, shook him so hard that he was sure she’d just rattled his brain loose. “Come shopping with me!”

Michael blinked again. And wait – was Dorian _laughing_ at him? No, better not to think about _that._ He tried – unsuccessfully – to pry Pixie off him. “A party?”

“Yes!” Pixie gushed, now bouncing up and down on her feet. “You owe me. _Remember?”_ At that her eyes narrowed, daring him to contradict her. When he didn’t, she proceeded to drag him towards the front door. “And – and – oh, Maker! I have to tell you about Fenris! I totally banged Fenris!”

Michael gasped. “YOU DID WHAT NOW?” Then he laughed loudly. “Good girl,” he said approvingly. “Now. I want all the gory details. Starting with a most graphic description of elf boy’s boner...”

Pixie giggled. And then, their voices were lost, cut off as the front door to the building swung shut behind them.

Dorian stood for a moment, staring at the door. _What odd people, these Southerners._ _So... uncooth._ Yes, he’d wanted to get away from Tevinter – well, away from his father – so he’d accepted the scholarship that Kirkwall University had offered him. It didn’t mean he liked the Free Marchers. _Especially_ that Michael Wolf. No, Dorian didn’t like him at all. Even though he was exotic to Dorian – fay and fair and ridiculously pretty. Just because Dorian had checked out his ass as he walked away – and, _Maker,_ he certainly managed to fill out those jeans rather well for a slim man – well, that didn’t mean anything. An automatic response.

He suddenly became aware that he was lingering by the elevator, and that he was alone in the lobby, except for the security guard, who was watching him with narrowed eyes while thuggishly chewing on a toothpick.

The man clearly had something to say. Dorian waited.

“Look,” Krem said gruffly. “If I gotta break up another party on the roof, I ain’t gonna be too happy about it.”

 _The roof, eh?_ Dorian tucked that bit of information away, even as he gave Krem his most indifferent shrug. “I’m sure I know nothing about it,” he said glibly as he stepped through the still-open elevator, and offered Krem a smile. “Oh, and I do hope you have a most pleasant day.”

_\-------------------------_

There were strings of novelty lights shaped like squirrels hung all around the roof, and lamps with colored paper shades, casting soft light. A table had been set up, filled with bowls of chips and plates of pretty pink cupcakes. Pitchers of sangria sat next to cups, with coolers of beer below. Pixie had sat Michael’s computer up in what they called ‘the nest’ – a small covered corner of the roof which they’d furnished with secondhand chairs, patio tables and hammocks to lounge or look at the stars on warm summer nights – so there was music, as well.

Pixie craned her neck. “I haven’t seen Fenris,” she said. “I know I told him seven. It’s seven-oh-five!” Pixie, paused, chewing anxiously on her lip. “Oh, Maker! What if something’s happened to him? What if he got into an accident?”

Michael laughed softly. “Maybe he’s just fashionably late.”

“You know,” Claire said. “You could just text him.”

Pixie’s eyes lit up. “Yes! That’s a good idea.” She turned to Michael. “Isn’t it?”

Smiling, Michael gently rubbed his hand across her shoulders. “A fabulous idea,” he said. “You do that, Pix. I’m going to go get another beer. Do you ladies want anything?”

Pixie, who was already affixed to her phone screen, typing madly away, shook her head.

Claire smiled. “It’s adorable how you think I’m a lady.”

Michael snorted a laugh, then Claire watched as he walked away.

Michael was lanky. Claire liked lanky. Also, he had a rather fine ass.

“What a waste,” Claire complained. “Why is it all the good ones are gay?”

Pixie, so focused on her phone, didn't even hear her friend. “Yay! Fenris texted back! He’s on his way!” Pixie blinked wide-eyed up at the other girl. “Do I look okay?”

Claire smiled. “Duh. You’re gorgeous, of course.” When Pixie looked skeptical, Claire added, “If you don’t believe me, then just check out those guys over there. They’re all watching you.”

“Really?” Pixie said, then turned to look. As she did, Cullen, Anders, and Alistair all waved at her from the other side of the roof. Disappointed, she turned back to Claire with a sigh. “Oh. That’s just the dork patrol. They don’t count.”

Claire scratched at the label on her beer bottle with a perfectly manicured fingernail as she contemplated the trio of blonds. The one in the glasses did look kind of like a dork. And the one with the spiky hair was probably in high school, and too young for her tastes. But the one with the long strawberry hair, half pulled back... “Who’s the one in the middle?”

“Oh. That’s just Anders,” Pixie said dismissively.

“Anders...” Claire repeated. “What do you know about him?” When Pixie hesitated, Claire grabbed her arm, hard, and snapped. “Tell me!”

Wait – why was Claire yelling at her? And why was she looking at Anders like that?

Oh!

A bit baffled, Pixie stuttered, “Umm... he likes cats?”

“Cats, huh?” Claire became thoughtful for a moment, then squeezed Pixie's arm again. “Introduce me!”

“Uh... okay.”

_\-------------------------_

A new beer bottle in hand, Michael went back to where he’d left Pixie and Claire.

Except that the women weren’t there.

But Dorian Pavus was.

Perhaps he’d come from an early gig, because he certainly looked like a rock star in a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and more eyeliner than usual, framing his eyes. _His beautiful, breath-stealing gray eyes...._

Michael bit back a curse. “Who invited you?” he snapped.

Dorian lifted a hand, ticking each name off on one of his fingers. “Pixie... Cullen... Alistair... Anders... mmm, pretty much everyone.” Dorian cocked an eyebrow, then amended, “Well, everyone who matters.”

 _Creators, what a dick_. “You know, I’d ask you how old you are, but I doubt you could count that high.”

Dorian’s eyebrow twitched up. The right one, which caused the birthmark to jump. “Really? That’s the best you can do? Because I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and shit out a better comeback than the one you just gave me.”

This man. He was infuriating. Briefly, Michael imagined the satisfaction to be had by shoving him off the roof. How pretty his corpse would look on the blood-spattered ground. That, of course, he couldn’t do. The most he could do would be to out-sass the ‘Vint.

Except, for once, Michael’s wit failed him. “You...” he sputtered. “I... Creators, you suck.”

Dorian laughed. In Michael’s face.

 _Fuck!_ Furiously blushing, Michael turned and started storming away.

“Leaving so soon?” Dorian called out after him. “I was just about to poison the sangria.”

 _Ugh! FUCK my FUCKING life!_ Seething, Michael took five more steps and then, as if conjured by magic, the perfect comeback popped into his mind.

Spinning around, he was ready to unleash this glittering diamond of his intellectual wit and cut Dorian Pavus down to size. But the space where Dorian had stood just a moment before was now empty.

_\-------------------------_

“So... Pixie says you like pussies.”

Anders lifted one eyebrow as he tightened his grip on the plastic cup in his hand, which was precariously slick with condensation from the warm air. He wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up here in a corner of the roof with the strange girl that Pixie had just shoved in his direction moments ago. Still, she was one of the most gorgeous women he’d ever seen, so he didn’t really mind. He just felt terribly uncertain and awkward. “Umm... excuse me?”

Claire’s brightly painted lips quirked up into a teasing smirk. “Cats. She said you liked cats.”

 _Cats... right._ Deciding to steer the conversation back to safer waters, Anders feigned innocence. “I do like cats. In fact, that was the main reason I decided to study veterinary medicine.”

“So you want to be an animal doc?” Claire said, looking genuinely impressed. “That’s so sweet of you. A noble calling.”

Anders wasn’t accustomed to flattery. There was a hierarchy among the young people who lived in the building, and he’d never been one of the ‘cool kids’. Granted, he wasn’t half and dorky as Cullen or Alistair, but... still, he flustered.

“Ah... that’s very nice of you to say,” he stammered, as Claire continued to look at him with eyes as dark and wide as the Amaranthine Ocean. _Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels,_ she was _gorgeous_. “Umm... you like animals?”

Claire continued to regard him for a moment. “To be honest,” she finally said, “I do like a sweet little pussy every now and then. But sometimes, I’m more in the mood for a big cock.”

Anders swallowed hard. No, he wasn’t steering this conversation anywhere – in fact, he wasn’t in the driver’s seat. Or maybe not even in the damn car. “I, ah... just to be clear... are you...?”

Claire chuckled softly. “Trying to get into your pants? Yes. Don’t tell me you’re not interested.”

The blond’s hand tightened harder around his plastic cup. “I didn’t want to presume that you’d be, ah, interested.”

Claire smiled again, this time invitingly. “We could just cut to the chase, you know,” she said, lowering her voice to a sultry burn as she leaned closer to his ear. “Just tell me the most fucked up thing you’ve ever wanted to do, and let’s find out if I can make you do something _worse.”_

The cup in Anders’ hand suddenly cracked, spattering ice and sangria everywhere.

_Shit shit shit!_

Before Anders could figure out what to do or say next, an angry voice boomed out across the roof. “Okay, you punk ass kids!” someone shouted. “Time to break it up! Get outta here now or I’ll report to _all_ your parents that you’ve been drinking!”

Anders’ stomach flipped immediately into his throat. He knew _that_ voice – all the kids in the building did. A quick head swivel in the direction of the voice confirmed what he already knew. All angry grimace and _don’t-fuck-with-me_ stare, the security guard filled the doorway.

“Andraste’s blushing tits,” Anders murmured. Without thinking, he grabbed Claire by the wrist. “We’d better get out of here before he actually nabs us.”

Claire arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Nabs us?” she repeated. “What’s he going to do? Lock us in the broom closet...?”

The words died on Claire’s lips as Krem lunged forward, seizing Alistair by the arm. “You,” he growled. “I know you’re still in high school. That had better be Kool-Aid in that cup.”

Alistair trembled.

 _What a brute,_ Claire thought. Still, she couldn’t help but notice the tingles radiating through her skin where Anders’ warm fingers were still wrapped tightly about her wrist. And wonder – despite everything – how hot it would be to have the pretty blond hovering over her as he pinned her wrists down...

Before she could continue that thought, a dark-haired woman appeared at the door. Her eyes quickly scanned over the scene before falling on the two men before her. Her expression curious, she directed her questions at Krem. “What the fuck is going here? And _what_ on earth are you doing to that poor boy?”

Krem, turning, stiffened almost imperceptibly. As he did so, he released his grip on Alistair – who was wise enough to take the opportunity to scurry away.

“Mrs. Hissrad,” Krem said. “Some of the kids here are havin’ a party. That’s against the rules.”

Lily frowned – her married name was a painful reminder of what _that fucker_ Bull had done. Still, her voice was calm as she swaggered up to Krem. “So what?”

Something in Krem’s expression hardened. Having his authority questioned by this woman? He didn’t think so. Crossing his arms before his chest, he stared down at her. “There are rules for a reason. And it’s _my_ job to enforce them.”

Lily blinked. Then she snarled. “They’re just _kids._ Having a little harmless _fun._ That doesn’t mean that you have the right to act like a bristle-headed jizztrumpet just ‘cause you have an authority complex!”

Dead silence fell. Anders was moderately certain that – judging by Krem’s expression – things were about to get _ugly._

As the shouting began in earnest, Anders tugged Claire along through the shadows as everyone at the party fled towards the door.


End file.
